Why Do I Bother To Close My Eyes?
by Mystrana
Summary: Harry is bothered by dreams of Draco. More annoyingly, it is just one never-changing dream. Harry is determined to end the dreams. Draco himself might have the answer.... '.' Chapter Two Up
1. Prolouge

"Sometimes we only live for the here and now

Sometimes we're lonely

Sometimes we feel we need a place to be grounded"

"Spiral" Godsmack

Eyes (Prologue)

"Why do I bother to close my eyes? I know what I will see and it will most certainly be you."

Harry nonetheless took it upon himself to close his eyes, trying to get some rest – it was late and he was very tired. But that dream he knew he would have made it hard. That dream just wouldn't let him be.

Visions of a gray-eyed blonde, a beautiful boy – but these dreams were not pleasant, they were not worth dreaming. They were visions of unfullfuillable lust, evil dreams dancing with promises of passion about the edges.

Slowly sleep overtook Harry's conciousness and his mind began to find itself in a familiar place, a field not yet fully formed; it never was and Harry knew sadly, it never would be. The sides of his vision saw pleasing shades of green grass and leaves, violet flowers and daisies, perhaps a tree in passing. But it was all never quite there.

Just like Draco. Always teasing, flaunting, taunting.

Dancing always out of reach. Something Harry could never have.

Harry woke up unhappily, but what was the point in dreaming farther? A check of the clock supplied the hour – a dismaying four am. Hours yet to breakfast, hours left that should be occupied with actual, useful, blissful sleep.

He faintly remembered something from years ago. Dudley had had a bad nightmare and woke Aunt Petunia, who told him to "turn over your pillow to chase the nightmare away."

It wasn't that Draco was a nightmare. It was just something extremely confusing. Harry flipped his pillow over anyway. He lay, face down. The cool fabric felt nice on his skin and before he could manage to think, ruefully, that Aunt Petunia might be on to something, he was back to sleep.

And almost instantly, he was back in his dream field, but something was different.


	2. The Beginning

Author's Note: In case you didn't notice, this is an AU fic.

Hermione took one look at Harry and sighed. "You need to get more sleep."

Harry looked at the girls Hermione had been talking to, who all stared at the dark circles under his eyes and he sighed. "Could I have a private word, do you suppose?"

"Of course," Hermione got up, and Ginny and the other girls, who she had been talking to, started to talk amongst themselves. Harry and Hermione moved over to the side of the common room.

Now out of the earshot of others, Harry still found himself to be rather incapable of saying what he wanted and needed to say. He was tired; he was disoriented and completely embarrassed. Hermione waited patiently, her expression both neutral and compassionate.

"My dream changed," Harry said, as he began to blush furiously at the thought of the changes. In his mind, he sighed at himself. A 7th year? Him? He felt more like a twelve year old with a crush.

But Hermione's expression didn't turn to disapproval or amusement, she just asked, "In a good way? You're still obviously losing sleep."

"What's going good this way?" Ron Weasley asked as he entered the common room, spotted the two of them, and made his way over.

There was a bit of a pause, because Harry didn't know what to say. Ron didn't find the pause as awkward as he did wrapping his arms around Hermione's waist and giving her a small hug. The simple gesture made Hermione beam happily as she looked at Ron.

"It's about his dream, anyhow," Hermione said, and Harry nodded, having nothing better to do. Ron knew about the dreams. The past summer, when Harry had started getting them, he had been staying at the Burrow with Ron and Hermione (the two had, at the end of the summer, finally stopped dancing around their feelings for each other and officially started dating).

Harry looked up at the ceiling which stared blankly back and Harry cast his thoughts back to that summer.

He woke up, breathing hard. His heart beat seemed faint. What had inspired that dream? It was fuzzy about the edges of his mind, but the aching presence between his legs helped him start to remember quite clearly.

Draco Malfoy, that boy who had dedicated the past six years of his life to tormenting Harry in person, and now – apparently – he had found a way into Harry's head a well. But how was the culmination of years of the back and forth between them presenting itself in this manner? Why?

For a week that warm summer, Harry kept the dreams to himself, although they felt as though they were being burnt into his brain. And by the next Monday, he could bear it no longer. Before breakfast, he shared the contents of his nighttime trauma with Ron. Ron had listened carefully and couldn't help but laugh a little at the sheer oddity of the situation. Finally, after Harry gave him a pleading look, Ron suggested that they go talk to Hermione.

It sounded like a plan enough to Harry, who was decently desperate for an explanation and solution for his horrible yet strangely exciting dreams. They went to Ginny's room, where Hermione was staying. Ron went in the room briefly and returned with Hermione. She was sleepy; apparently she and Ginny had stayed up late gossiping last night (later it was found out they were dissecting Hermione's crush on Ron).

The three of them went back up to Ron's room, and slowly Harry re-explained his dream. Hermione nodded thoughtfully, and said that she understood and that it made sense that Harry was dreaming about Draco.

"After all," she said with her air of knowledge, "People tend to dream of other people in their lives. The content of the dream is a little odd given your relationship to him, but then again, dreams are odd." Hermione glanced a little at Ron and smiled.

Harry agreed with her. Ron agreed as well.

What else was there to be said though? The three agreed that it was best to try to take Harry's mind off of it, and so the next few days were spent exploring the area, playing Quidditch, and some studying at Hermione's insistence.

Every night, however, it was the same.

Harry woke up on a cool Saturday morning, knowing in the back of his head faintly that soon they would be packing to head to Hogwarts for their final year. He groaned as the remnants of his dream manifested themselves strongly in his pants.

Once I see Draco at school, they'll sort themselves out he thought to himself, mentally preparing himself for the day and year to come.

Back in the present, Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts: "So what changed after all?"

And Harry went back to blushing.

Finally he said, "I can't go into details, but for the first time I – he – wasn't out of reach. It was odd. It was just like it normally was, and I was about to wake up and then he just stopped moving away."

"Ah Harry, you're such an odd one," Ron said after a moment, and laughed.

Harry agreed. Did friends usually share these kinds of dreams? He didn't think so. But Ron and Hermione seemed to understand the considerable pain they brought upon him.

"Well, does that mean that you're good then? You can stay asleep a whole night now, you think?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Harry replied. He looked into the distance thoughtfully. "I hope so of course. But help me out here.. I still want to know why it's so persistent. Why him? If I had to pick any guy in the world to dream about, why him?"

"The whole enemies for several years," Ron offered helpfully. "He's on your mind a lot whether it's good or bad."

And yet now when Harry saw Draco in class and at dinner, he couldn't help but stare and wonder how accurate his dreams were as to what was underneath those long black robes. Harry grinned to cover up another blush.

"Maybe I'll talk to him," he mused to Ron that night. Ron shrugged and said good night.

It was late, Harry knew, and he thought to himself: Why do I bother to close my eyes?

He answered himself sleepily, happily, embarrassed: Because I know what I will see, and it will most certainly be you.


	3. It Happens Fast

In truth, what happened next happened fast. The morning came quickly, and in fact, so did the rest of the day. At dinner, however, Harry found his mouth to be working quite apart from what his brain willed. His feet in cohorts with his mouth, Harry found himself standing in front of a bemused, puzzled Draco in the slowly emptying hallways.

As always, Crabbe and Goyle waited for a cue from Draco and at his slight wave of the hand, they lumbered off in the direction of the dungeons.

For a long, glorious moment, Harry savored the simple fact that he was standing alone in front of Draco. It was hard for him to say exactly what his feeling was. There was a bit of nervousness, certainly, sort of a fog over the water. The water being admiration and a swelling of simple passion. And under that, perhaps the sands of eternity. Perhaps the hope for something permanent.

This moment seemed quite long, but honestly, Draco couldn't hold back from speaking for long. "Potter." The word was spoken directly, and carefully devoid of any emotions. A slight but significant pause and then: "Well, I noticed you didn't bring your little friends for protection, so as you see, you can say what you have to."

Harry nodded slowly, his mouth still clamoring to say things his brain was terrified of the results. "Well."

The word came out and Harry couldn't help but to sigh. He looked up towards the ceiling, trying to put this all in perspective and then finally it just wasn't worth the effort. So he let his mouth take over, figuring that after nearly seven years of animosity, could it really get any worse?

"I've been thinking about you a lot, quite honestly," Harry said, and he could see Draco didn't know quite how to take it. Still, Draco seemed neutral enough, so Harry carried on. "We've known each other for seven years and a lot has happened between us, obviously."

"So you're after some sort of… truce?" Draco questioned. His voice retained its' elegant air, but there was something underneath. "Potter, I don't understand what you're going for here."

"Neither do I," Harry admitted. "Which is why I came to talk to you, because besides Ron and Hermione, in a way, you know me better than anyone else in this school."  
"Logical enough," Draco said slowly.

"I know enough about holding grudges to know that it's almost impossible to keep one for seven years on the grounds you have," Harry said pointedly.

For the first time, Draco let down his guard for a near moment, a faint blush rushing to his cheeks. Then it was gone, and he was saying to a spellbound Harry, "You're quite forward, aren't you?"

Harry took a deep breath, not sure how to interpret the statement. He had no clue what to say, but then Draco took the initiative, saying, "Oh look, if we're going to talk about this, let's go somewhere a little… more private, don't you think?"

As he said this, Draco whirled around, and without waiting to see if Harry followed, started down the hallway. Of course Harry scurried behind, smiling a little to himself. There seemed to be a touch of urgency in Draco's movements, and Harry almost too late remembered to remind himself that it could yet be a trap.

But he smiled anyhow. Already, it felt good to start expressing his true feelings. Draco led them down the hall, turning right at intervals and going up a flight of stairs. He looked the left, to the right, and tapped a door, and it opened, revealing a room with a large, fancy desk and chair. One wall was lined to the ceiling with books and papers, and the back wall had a huge 

window hung with dark green curtains. Harry realized that near the back of this room there was a small bed that showed signs of recent use.

Draco briefly explained that this was a private study room that he had asked permission to be allowed to stay in. Harry rolled his eyes at the thought of Draco explaining to the headmaster that he didn't want to stay with the other slytherins. The colors matched though, and Harry didn't mind that part. Green and silver suited Draco's style.

Harry's thoughts were slammed back into the present by Draco saying sharply, "So, then, Potter."

Blinking, Harry looked at Draco. His breath caught in his throat for a moment. "So then," he repeated.

"Well, this is a bit more comfortable, don't you think?" Draco seemed to be pondering saying something more, but instead said, "Have a seat if you wish."

Draco himself sat down on a velvety green armchair and Harry sat on the fancy chair by the desk. He tried to guess what Draco was up to, how much Draco suspected, how much Draco requited.

And suddenly Harry couldn't look at Draco but said softly, "It's just that I can't help but wonder if all the attention you give me is for a different reason." He couldn't keep back the deep red blush as he added, "A reason that I'd much prefer to hear."

Was it scorn in Draco's voice when he replied? "Potter, you are by far the densest, most ignorant person I know. Sometimes I wonder if you have any clue how emotions work." It wasn't.

As Harry got the nerve to look up into Draco's face he realized it wasn't scorn or mocking. It was longing.

"Oh honestly," Draco continued in the same tone. "You amaze me. You all do. Everyone. Believing that my hostility towards you was born from some petty jealousy of you? I'll admit, it's enjoyable as hell."

Harry had to look away again. The look on Draco's face confused him, and he was scared. In fact, he had started to tremble, quite apart from his own will.

It happened fast. The worry that Draco was going to play him for a fool, the worry that Draco was in fact being truthful. He wasn't sure which scared him more, and it made him feel all over nauseous. Harry realized that seven years of build-up to this point was more than he could handle, and fell from his chair.

When he came to, it had only been a minute. He was lying in the bed in the back of the room, and Draco was sitting on the side of it, looking at him and laughing.

"Oh, honestly, Potter. You amuse me to no end."

Harry had no words, but watched Draco in astonishment. The blonde crawled in the bed next to him, and then, on top of him, smirking.

"Seven years. As you can see, I am patient," Draco muttered. "Or insane."

"Probably insane," Harry offered, "But so am I."

It seemed as though those words shattered any remaining doubt and tension. Draco leaned forward, starting with a gentle brush of his lips against Harry's. It deepened quickly, and there were no more words.


End file.
